That's What I Would Do
by SunbeamsAndSomeBeans
Summary: Mila has plenty of advice to offer Sara on the subject of boys. None of it can possibly be called impartial. X-posted from AO3
1. Chapter 1

Most of the time, Sara decided, there was some part of her that appreciated Mickey's concern. It was even endearing when he was squaring up to men who towered over him, mistakenly assuming that the muscles honed from years of skating would be remotely helpful when he had never actually been in a fight, save for shoving that boy in the park over when they were ten because he put gum in her hair (the boy had retaliated by punching him in the nose, leaving her brother simultaneously crying and spluttering weak threats through a stream of blood). Mickey made no secret of his role of self-appointed knight in sequinned armour, determined, in theory, to defend her from the hordes of slavering brutes determined to destroy her virtue, whatever the hell that was. Said brutes were never anywhere to be seen, which he seemed to interpret as a success.  
Today, however, his constant talking, God, did he ever _shut up_ , was rubbing on the last of her already raw nerves. She had attempted to counteract the jet lag with espresso, but she suspected that she may have overdone it. This hotel lobby was stuffy and smelled too strongly of cleaning products, her heart was rattling against her ribcage, and she could feel sweat pooling in her armpits.  
It wasn't that she was even that interested in Seung-gil. She was just at that intersecting point between sleep-deprived and full of caffeine where she had energy to burn off. She wanted to run down the corridor and hug people she hadn't seen in over a year and talk to someone who wasn't Mickey, who, incidentally, was still. Talking.  
They had run into Emil in the elevator, who, as always, had greeted her with one of his bear hugs and asked them both out for lunch, but Mickey, possibly as jet lagged as she was, somehow interpreted this as Emil asking her out, prompting his usual speech about how he wasn't good enough for Sara, how dare he even think about asking her out. He seemed completely oblivious to the fact that the invitation was clearly open to both of them, and that Emil was about to drag him into the hug before he started berating him for being a normal fucking human being. No wonder Seung-gil was so visibly appalled by the idea of joining them for lunch. It was still unnecessary to be that blunt, she thought. At least Yuuri had been polite enough to awkwardly sneak into another elevator, although, given his display last year, he could have just felt embarrassed.  
Now, she swung her arms, huffing with boredom and ignoring the ugly swirling pattern of the carpet.  
"- and that Emil is an idiot, I was stuck talking to him at the banquet and he never stops talking-"  
"Neither do you, Mickey. Just... be quiet, will you?" Sara twirled around, feeling her hair trail behind her like streamers. "You don't have to be a dick to everyone who speaks to me, who else are we supposed to mingle with if not the others?"  
Mickey pursed his lips in distaste at her language. "I just don't want anyone to take advantage-"  
"Take advantage of me? Of course, God forbid anyone genuinely just want to hang out with me-"  
"You know that's not what I meant." Mickey placed his hand on her shoulder, but stared at the floor, like he always did when she was too close to snapping at him. Sara shrugged his hand off.  
"Look, I'm going for a walk." Mickey looked panicked. "Just around the hotel, not around the city on my own" she added quickly. "It's been a long flight, I drank too much coffee, I just want to walk around and hopefully I can sleep tonight, yes?"  
Mickey's shoulders slumped, and that pang of guilt wrestling with irritation (how dare he make this about his hurt feelings) jostled her already delicate stomach. She took a deep breath.  
"Mickey. Come on. Go and take a nap or something. You didn't sleep on the flight over either."  
"You'll text me?"  
"Sure."  
Mickey nodded stiffly, and she found herself giving him an exasperated hug.  
"I'm sorry" he mumbled into her shoulder.  
"Don't be sorry. Be nice. That includes to Emil, by the way. Maybe you can catch up with him."  
"Why would I want to do that?"  
"Because he's nice and wants to be your friend. And you need a friend." Her brother's mouth opened to protest, but she cut him off. "One who you didn't share a womb with. Go on, go. I'll see you later."

The hotel had a restaurant area, but it was still packed from the lunch rush. She still didn't feel hungry, veins still buzzing and thrumming from sleep deprivation and coffee, so she bought a bottle of water from a vending machine, and resumed wandering the corridors. Who even does that, she wondered, tossing the cool weight of the bottle from one hand to the other. Roaming around a hotel with nowhere to go. Ghosts? Maybe there were ghosts here. Her grandmother always said that hotels were usually haunted. She shut her eyes and spun a few times down a long hallways with even more of that revolting carpet, humming under her breath, and probably, she figured, looking like she was having some sort of breakdown. She stopped, arms raised gracefully, striking the last pose of her own routine, and suddenly felt very aware of a slight warmth tickling her face. A ghost? No, they would be cold. She cracked one eye open, and shrieked at the sight of a very out-of-focus blue eye two inches from hers. |  
Mila doubled over laughing, while Sara gasped and clutched at her chest, which was now threatening to explode.  
"Mila, you absolute-"  
Her friend flung her arms around her and pressed a kiss to her cheek, no doubt leaving a slight pink sheen from her lip gloss. "I'm sorry, little prima ballerina, I couldn't resist, how are you? I was going to text you!"  
"I'm only little next to you, how did you manage to get taller? And I'm... urgh, I'm tired. But not tired, too awake. You know, coffee, that's why the water-" Most of the skaters from different countries tended to communicate in English, but her brain clearly was not cooperating right now, and she didn't speak anywhere near enough Russian. Mila shook her head.  
"You have been drinking that nasty coffee?"  
"So much. It was such a long flight, and I couldn't sleep, there was this baby who wouldn't be quiet-"  
"Where is Michele, anyway?"  
"Hah. Funny. I don't know, I told him to go bother Emil for a while, since he was a jerk to him earlier."  
"Why? Actually, never mind, you can tell me over tea. Come on, my room's this way." Mila slipped an arm into Sara's, and started walking.  
"What kind of tea?"  
"It's fine, it's some of that caffeine free green tea. Lilia makes Yuri drink it, which means we all suffer it." She wrinkled her nose in distaste, and retrieved her key card from her pocket.  
Sara wasn't sure why she felt the need to stop then, maybe it was the human contact, or the sheer exhaustion, or the relief at seeing someone who understood the nature of this career, who she could see after a year and talk to as though no time had passed, who understood when to talk about routines and injuries and signature moves and when to just drop the well-worn subject and talk about literally anything else. Whatever it was, she felt herself pull Mila into a fierce hug, somewhat aware that her face was pressed against her chest. Not that Mila would care, she had never had much of a sense of personal space.  
"Mmfff. Miffed you" Sara mumbled into her friend's tracksuit top. Mila squeezed her back, and used the opportunity to pick her up, prompting an undignified squawk. "Missed you too, Crispy!" she sang, resurrecting the much-loathed nickname. "Come on, catch-up time. Tell me everything."


	2. Chapter 2

"Why is she angry?"

Sara was sprawled out on the bed in Mila's hotel room, occasionally lifting her head ever so slightly to look at the TV, which was currently tuned to what appeared to be a Russian soap opera. A middle-aged woman with masses of curly blonde hair was currently screaming at a pouting younger woman. Being in Russian, the plot was incomprehensible to her.

Mila glanced up from painting her toenails with some lurid pink polish. "What do you think she's angry about?"

Sara hummed softly. "Let me see. She is the other woman's mother."

"Good guess."

"She's angry because her daughter is ungrateful."

"Hmm. Kinda."

"Because she put her whole life on hold to have her daughter..."

"...maaaybe..."

"...who is actually the daughter of Satan, who wants his spawn to carry out his work on Earth."

Mila groaned. "Exactly what kind of soaps do you have in Italy?!"

"Is my story better than the real one?"

"...well, yes. She's actually angry because her daughter is marrying her former stepfather, so, Nastia's ex."

"Is her step-"

"-her stepfather isn't Satan. So yes, your story is better. Maybe they should hire you to write for them, this show has sucked for years now." Satisfied with her toenails, Mila poked Sara's leg. "Come on, I'll paint yours too."

"No-one will see them."

"So? It's for luck."

"What's lucky about pink nail polish?"

"It's my favourite kind, so I say it's lucky. Come on, I've already done mine, and Yuri's. Not that he needs the luck."

"I'm surprised he let you."

"Me too, I got halfway through before he realised that no-one would see them, but let me finish anyway because he didn't want me hogging all the luck for myself, apparently."

"He doesn't seem like he's superstitious."

Mila shrugged. "You'd think, but then, he is a literal baby."

"He's fifteen!"

"Yeah, but he's a brat. And I'm stuck with being the only one torturing him because Georgi's still moping over Anya, and Viktor's off playing coach."

"He seems to be doing well."

"Yeah. Yakov's still mad though." Mila tugged one of Sara's socks off, and reached for the polish. "We've got Lilia hanging around all the time now, which probably doesn't help. She's only there for Yuri, but she keeps shouting about my posture. Even when I'm just sitting down. And she never smiles. Who doesn't smile? I smile all the time."

"And you are a pest." Sara poked her tongue out.

"How dare you. I am a delight." She observed her work on Sara's right foot, and nodded in appreciation. "Sit up, I need your other foot." Without waiting, she grabbed both of Sara's ankles and spun her around until the required foot was in her lap.

"Easy!"

"I've been doing weights lately, can you tell?"

Sara reached over and pinched Mila's upper arm. It felt warm and solid. "Very... hench."

"Hench?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

"Sure, brah." Mila grabbed the snapback Sara had discarded as soon as she lay down on the bed. "Hey brah, you going to the kegger, brah?"

Sara snatched the hat back and yanked it onto her head. "Dude, you know I can't, Alpha Beta Boob are having a pillow fight in their panties, we can't miss that!" They both snorted with laughter.

"Boys are ridiculous."

"Yeah."

"Speaking of which..." Mila raised an eyebrow. "Any luck in the last year? What happened with that Marc guy? You said Mickey scared him off?"

"Of course he did. Like he does everyone."

"That sucks. Have you talked to him?"

"Of course, so many times. But I'm going to have to really..." lost for words, Sara firmly slammed one hand down on the pillow. "You know. Be blunt. So there's no room for him to make a sad face and make me feel bad."

"Of course. Look, he's been ruining all chances for you to have a social life outside of him. I know he's your brother, but it's selfish, Sara."

"He thinks he's protecting me."

Mila rolled her eyes and finished painting the last toenail. "Does he? Or has he convinced himself that he's protecting you just because he's too scared to make his own friends?"

"I don't know." She lay back on the bed, tossing the snapback onto the floor behind her. "I don't get why he wouldn't want friends."

"Well, you're not just brother and sister. Or even twins. You've been skating together since day one, you spend all your time together, you're basically the only person he is certain will never reject him. Yakov says that skaters who train together already have a closer bond than most regular friends, add the family dynamic and the need to be a big strong man into that and that's how you end up with... well, with Mickey."

"Are you a psychologist now?"

"Nah. It's just pretty obvious, don't you think?"

"I guess not to me." Sara lay her head back on the pillow. The soap opera had ended, and she assumed she was looking at an advertisement.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to be a jerk, I know he's your brother. It just sucks that he won't let you do anything."

"Mmm." She could feel her eyes start to jerk around and fail to focus on anything, a sure sign of sleep.

"And hey, you should get out more. You can't always be skating. Even I get away sometimes. Come to St. Petersburg, I'll show you around." Mila lay down next to her and stretched.

There was a brief period of quiet, and Sara managed to force her eyes open. "Mila?"

Mila herself was sprawled out, eyes closed, although her breathing indicated that she wasn't quite asleep.

"Mm?"

"Can I crash here? I'm comfortable now. I'll text Mickey."

"Sure." Mila lifted her legs in the air and wriggled under the covers. "C'mon, it's warm."

The last thing Sara remembered after pulling the duvet up to her chin was feeling for her phone as a jingle chirped from the TV.


End file.
